Fractal
by rebeldesigns
Summary: Fractal: a rough or fragmented geometric shape that can be split into parts, each of which is a reduced-size copy of the whole. She's given them all a small part of her; the only question is, how much does she have left for herself? Bonnie/multiple
1. Matt

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, isn't that punishment enough?

**Author's Note:** Jesus, I feel like it's been forever since I've sat down and typed one of these. I've been so busy with everything, but some plot bunnies won't die. I actually got this idea while interning today, and I couldn't get it out of my head. Hope you guys enjoy this! This one's a bit out of my comfort zone, seeing as I have to try and connect Bonnie with all six of these characters in a way that's believable. I hope my efforts aren't in vain, although I pretty much ship Bonnie with everything and the kitchen sink, so I'm just surprised I never wrote this earlier.

I've broken this up into parts because A) it gives me more time in between updates and B) some of the sections got too long so I figured it would be better to do it in chapters.

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**Fractal**, or

**The Five People Bonnie Kisses and the One That Kisses Her**

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**001. MATT DONOVAN**

It's just a little crush. There's no harm in that.

That's what she tells herself every time she sees his golden head bob into view, every time her pulse races and breathing quickens when she catches a glimpse of those sparkling blue eyes of his.

They've been friends since kindergarten. And of course, being a girl, she realizes that her feelings run deeper than just mere friendship by the time they're in fifth grade. Poor, oblivious, sweet Matt has no idea that when Bonnie ends their telephone conversations with "I love you," she really means "I _love_ you." He just thinks it's their thing, and he answers with "I love you, too," the chummy, best friend version of "See you later." By eighth grade it's becoming an issue, her infatuation with Matt Donovan, clouding her every judgment and affecting her every thought. Bonnie isn't rational when it comes to the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy next door. That's probably why when she finds out he's moving to a bigger house halfway across town it seems like her world has finally crash-landed to a stop.

She's at his new house, helping him unpack.

"I still can't believe you're so far away now," Bonnie whines, tugging a glass vase wrapped in newspaper from the box by her feet. They're standing in what will become the living room. Mrs. Donovan, as usual, is nowhere to be found, and Vicki is outside, having already made good friends with the two high school guys living down the street. Bonnie suspects that they're druggies, but knows better than to mention this to Vicki. It would only make her interest in the boys increase.

Matt laughs, tossing Bonnie an affectionate grin over his shoulder as he tears into a new box with a razor blade. "I'm living all of what, five minutes away by car? You could ride your _bike_ to my house and back to yours in fifteen minutes, tops! No big deal, Bon."

"Yeah, whatever. Just don't come whining to me next time you want to play on my Xbox," Bonnie grins, carefully pulling a piece of packing tape from the lip of the vase. "Because we all know that's the _real_ reason you've stayed friends with me for so long."

Matt gasps, clapping a hand to his heart theatrically. "Bonnie Bennett, I am offended! You are the Lego to my Eggo, the PB to my J! That you would ever suggest that I am _using _you is—" He sputters, wagging a finger in her direction.

Bonnie giggles, smiling inwardly as she bends down to retrieve yet another vase from the box. "Hey Matt, where does this one go?"

Matt ambles over to have a look. Each step closer and her body hums with awareness, practically crackling with electricity by the time he's standing behind her. "Which one?" He asks softly, placing a hand on her arm.

"Matt…" Bonnie turns into him and just like that, they're kissing.

His lips are smooth, warm. He tastes of sunshine and summer evenings, the quintessential embodiment of warmth and light. There's hesitation there, at least on his part, but Bonnie stubbornly waits, mouth pressed against his, until at last something in him yields and splits, revealing something tender and heated beneath. His tongue tentatively brushes along the line of her lips, a silent question that she answers by parting her mouth, hands reaching up to grip the front of his polo tightly.

He lets out a muffled sound in the back of his throat and it's over before she even realizes it. Matt detaches himself from her, straightening his neck and slowly allowing his eyes to fall open. Bonnie watches him, her head a cacophony of contradicting emotions that render useless her ability to speak. The silence in the room is a tangible beast, breathing down both their necks until Matt finally loses his resolve.

"I'm sorry," he breathes against her lips, lowering his forehead until it gently grazes hers. Guilt drips raw on the unwelcome syllables, chafing Bonnie's ears and curling her hands into fists. His words alone don't convey the emotion that they're supposed to, but if Bonnie were to look into his eyes she would see that their usual spark is muted, dimmed by the fact that he knows. He _knows _he's hurting her, and he's hurting too. As it were, her embarrassment prevents her from meeting his gaze. Instead she settles for closing her eyes, wishing it all away.

He presses a gentle hand against her shoulder, but doesn't push her away. Somehow that small action speaks volumes, echoing loudly in the silence that settles over the two of them once more like a layer of dust, stuffy and dry to the touch. Bonnie obligingly backs away from him, away from his warmth and her disappointment.

"Elena?" She questions, just to be sure, bracing herself for the answer she knows will drive deeply into her flesh, draw blood, leave scars.

"Elena." He confirms simply, and he can't help the softening of his expression as he utters her name, nor the small smile that finds its way to his lips despite himself.

And, just like that, Bonnie bleeds.

Matt Donovan might have seen Bonnie first, but he saw Elena second… and he never looked back. The realization sticks to her throat, a sharp and painful blockage that she can't quite swallow around. She'll just have to learn to breathe in a different way, with shallow, gasping breaths to alleviate the prickly flush of embarrassment coloring her skin.

Bonnie smiles over her mortification, laughs to mask the quiet crack she's sure emanates from her hollow rib cage. Five minutes later they're back to unpacking. Fifteen minutes pass before they declare a truce after an impromptu packing peanuts war. Matt drives her home and gives her a goodbye hug. It lasts a little longer than the hugs they're used to.

"Love you."

She's saying _I love you._

"Love you too, Bonnie."

He's saying _Goodbye._

The following Tuesday Matt and Elena make their status official. Bonnie smiles and coos when appropriate at Elena's newfound giddiness and watches as she twines her long fingers through Matt's flaxen locks and presses a kiss to his cheek, now stained a sweet strawberry red from equal parts embarrassment and pleasure at such a public display of affection. His smile is wide and genuine.

Bonnie's isn't.

Something inside her breaks, shifts, rearranges… she realizes for the first time the person she has allowed herself to become. Bonnie is pretty but not the aquiline knockout of Elena's diamond-cut features. She's bubbly but not quite Caroline's brand of chardonnay, seemingly expensive in the packaging but with the prematurely cloying aftertaste of something more caustic.

And so while sitting there during lunch, between the two newly declared lovebirds and a ridiculously perky Caroline, Bonnie subconsciously accepts her fate as the girl who is good, but not quite good enough.


	2. Elena

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything.

**Author's Note:** I'm trying to do this with some semblance of chronology; you can see where my oneshots take place in the TV show's storyline. The response to my first chapter was fantastic, and I'm sorry that I took so long to post but college got in the way. I'm always so humbled and appreciative when I hear feedback, whether it is good or bad. Keep in mind that this doesn't necessarily have a continuing thread throughout; there's no real plot, these chapters are all oneshots, linked by the show's continuity.

Also, a warning for those people who don't like femmeslashy stuff, this chapter is Bonnie and Elena. It's pretty chaste stuff, but if it bothers you for some reason, just skip this one. I really miss these two circa season one—I think (hope) their friendship is on the road to recovery. Oh, and in case you didn't pick it up, this takes place the summer after Elena's parents die.

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**Fractal**, or

**The Five People Bonnie Kisses and the One That Kisses Her**

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**002. ELENA GILBERT**

They're sitting across from each other on the floor of the Gilberts' living room. The television, muted, plays flickering shapes and colors over their faces as they stare at the verdant bottle standing upright on the floor by their feet. Jenna won't be home until six, and Jeremy's crashing at a friend's, which means they've got a solid four hours to get rip-roaring drunk on ten-year-aged California red.

The house feels unsettling, quiet, as if the ghosts of the two people who were living here a mere three weeks ago are permeating the air, giving it an almost palpable taste of numb and alone. Elena would never vocalize her discomfort, but Bonnie knows that the house savors of too many memories for her to handle alone. So, when Elena proposes watching the Family Guy marathon on Fox while drunk, Bonnie feels it is her active duty as best friend to take the girl up on her offer.

Whatever it takes to keep Elena from being alone in that house with her thoughts.

Elena lets out a giggle. "This probably is a number four on our list of stupidest things we've ever done."

Bonnie snorts. "Yeah." She reaches out, dangles a corkscrew in front of Elena's bright eyes. "But allow me to facilitate your habit."

Elena gasps. "You are such a bad influence, Bonnie Bennett!" She snatches the corkscrew out of Bonnie's hands and tosses her pin-straight hair out of her eyes, those eyes filled with mischief, mischief that covers the grief with as much success as whitewash over red paint. "Bad influence," she mutters again, fingers drumming pensively against her thigh.

"As bad of an influence as Caroline?" Bonnie retorts, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing her best friend with a steady smirk as Elena tugs at the cork with unpracticed hands. After allowing her to struggle for a few moments, Bonnie sighs loudly and eases the wine out of Elena's grip. "You _really_ need to work on your upper body strength, m'dear," she chirps, and with a practiced flick of the wrist the cork is off. This earns her an impressed eyebrow arch from her companion.

Bonnie leans in to sniff. The alcohol is heady, but not entirely unpleasant. After all, 1999 was a good year. Her body thrums with anticipation. Her gaze flicks over to Elena's face. Elena's eyes are wide, her mouth parted as she eagerly eyes the shiraz in Bonnie's hands.

Eager for the numb to set in.

It takes them all of half an hour to polish off the entire bottle.

They're both laughing far more than the situation warrants.

"Why not, right?" Elena edges closer, holding out her right hand to Bonnie. Her left, holding the wine bottle loosely by its neck, is thrown about wildly as she gesticulates. "I mean, I've always kind of wondered. Haven't you?" The television plays on—the baby and the dog have apparently time traveled, or something—but Bonnie lost track of the plot two-thirds of wine ago.

Bonnie considers. Then she licks her lips and grins, shrugging. "Why the hell not? I've kissed uglier. I think."

Elena shrieks indignantly. "Bitch!" Her swat is poorly aimed and she ends up falling over, nearly taking out Bonnie's jaw with her elbow.

Bonnie collapses in a fit of giggles and it takes not two, but three well-placed punches to the spleen before she recovers. "Ow, Elena! When did you learn to not punch like a girl?" Bonnie rubs her side ruefully from her sprawled position on the hardwood, eyeing her friend with a mixture of amusement, resentment, and respect.

"Are you gonna do it or not?" Elena challenges, dangling the nearly empty wine bottle in front of Bonnie's nose like a hypnotist. Her face takes on a mock-seductive expression, lips overly pouted, eyebrow arched, glossy hair tossed over the shoulder.

"If it'll shut you up," Bonnie snorts. She heaves herself off the floor, which, at this stage of drunkenness, is akin to an Olympian feat.

The kiss is at first a chaste brush of lips against lips, and the first thought that Bonnie has running through her brain is _this isn't too bad._ It feels exactly how she expects it to be, like kissing a girl who just happens to be her friend; or perhaps it's like kissing a friend who just happens to be a girl. The kiss is a bit messy, thanks to their rather ill-conceived drinking habits, but the pressure of Elena's soft mouth on her own makes up for the drunken coordination of it all.

Like twins, they lean back simultaneously.

"Well," Elena muses, crossing her arms. She looks up and meets Bonnie's eyes.

And, just like that, they both burst into another round of giggles.

Bonnie gasps for breath during a particularly loud bout of raucous laughter. "D'you think Matt would get jealous of us, my lover?"

Elena swats her in the shoulder and heaves a dramatic sigh. "He should be," she winks in Bonnie's direction and leans forward, kissing her cheek. "Nothing says true love like getting your best friend drunk to get in her pants, Miss Bennett."

"You see right through me and my nefarious plot, Miss Gilbert. I should have known that you wouldn't put out on the first date."

They fall backwards onto the floor, uncoordinated messes. The floor feels cold and hard against Bonnie's back and she squirms, trying to get comfortable. Elena lets out a muted laugh and then inevitably lapses into a thoughtful silence. The air fills with the sound it, her thoughts, her worries buzzing through the air and seeping into Bonnie's blood.

"Stop thinking so loud. You're giving me wrinkles," Bonnie giggles, jiggling her leg against the floor.

Bonnie frowns. No response.

Bonnie reaches out and her hand encircles Elena's wrist, squeezing gently. "Elena, what's wrong?" _What isn't wrong?_ Is an easier question to ask, but they both fear the answers to that.

A single tear treks its way slowly down Elena's cheek. In the dim light it shines with all the opalescence of a crowning jewel.

"Things will never be the same now, will it?" Elena's voice is hushed, choked, a tremor of panic weaving throughout. Elena turns her head to the side and her eyes collide with Bonnie's; the raw pain in the brown orbs makes Bonnie's heart shatter. She's never seen Elena Gilbert, confident, popular Elena Gilbert, so frightened of life. That, more than anything, is what makes something inside her break.

Bonnie's grip on Elena's slender wrist tightens and she swallows hard past the aching in the back of her throat. Pulling her best friend towards her, she snakes an arm around her shoulders and hugs her to her chest like some small, fragile, shivery little thing needing protecting. Bonnie's voice is quiet, a bit husky with emotion, but sure.

"No. No, they won't."


	3. Ben

**Disclaimer:** No tengo nada.

**Author's Note:** It's been a while. But I haven't forgotten about this, and mayhap I intend to finish it. Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone! Enjoy this next installment. It's quite dark, to be honest. I'm using it as practice for some other stuff I plan on writing.

And, in case you were wondering, I completed the Bonnie/Damon one a hella loonnnnng time ago. Saving the best for last, o'course. :)

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**Fractal**, or

**The Five People Bonnie Kisses and the One That Kisses Her**

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**003. BEN MCKITTRICK**

He watches her as she tries not to watch him.

He's perfected that coy yet edgy boy-next-door pout on his lips, the seductive tilt of his head to the side that casts his perfectly symmetric face in artistic profile. His eyelids flutter closed, doe-like lashes sweeping the grace of his cheekbones like a lover and Bonnie is struck then by just how good looking this fledgling is—the harsh fluorescent lighting of the bathroom casts filtered slivers of light into the yawning darkness beyond, yet does nothing to detract from his _presence_.

His nostrils flare with her scent, his ears pick up the frantic staccato of her heart and he swallows. He exhales slowly with her taste on his tongue, a type of guttural hum edging around his lips and settling deep in his throat. Bonnie can't help thinking that it's almost sexual, this purr of his, and she has to force herself to look away, to think of tearing him limb from limb with her mind instead of wishing those sinfully canted lips pressed to her neck instead.

His eyes flick open and they're black, veined, grotesque with bloodlust. They glitter like onyx embers in the near dark of the hotel room. He tongues the edge of one of his fangs contemplatively before rising in one fluid movement from his perch on the nightstand.

He's mastered the predatory walk already, Bonnie notices as he stalks towards her, more animal than man in his pursuit. She closes her eyes. She doesn't need to see him to fear him. His hands are rough but his hold is surprisingly gentle as he lifts her bodily from the bathroom and carries her into the main living area. Her eyes open just in time to catch the dizzying loss of equilibrium as the vampire dumps her on one of the beds. Bonnie scrambles back from him, pressing herself against the headboard and willing herself to become one with the wood, disappear, dissolve into nothing.

He teases her.

Reaches out to toy with a lock of her hair. Twists it around a forefinger and raises it to his nose. "You know, earlier on our date I told you that you smelled good. I wasn't lying," he murmurs. His fangs have retracted but his eyes are still all too vampire. As his gaze flicks towards hers she shudders, clenches her shaking hands behind her back tightly. Her cable-tie restraints dig into the flesh of her wrists painfully. She's been losing circulation for a while now. The sharp tingling pain in the tips of her fingers makes her all too aware of the situation she's in.

"I want to hear you scream, Bonnie." His breath fans hot and moist at her neck and she shivers, closing her eyes and willing herself to do something, anything, with her powers. But in her fear her hold on her magic slips through her fingers like smoke; her mind is a jumble of panic and nonsense words that are of no use to her here (_this isn't real. This isn't real_).

"But first, I want my kiss," he smirks. The look on his face is dangerous now, nothing but shadow and eternity and Bonnie whimpers against the gag in her mouth as he reaches out and slides a finger down her cheek. His finger hooks on the cotton gripped between her teeth and he pulls, tugging it unceremoniously down, snagging her lip in the process, then keeps tugging until it jumps the hump of her chin and drops against her heaving collarbone.

_Finally._ She opens her mouth but the look he shoots her makes the scream wither and recede in her throat. She settles for a soundless gasp.

And his eyes are on her lips and his fingertips are pressing, digging into her forearms as he tilts his head and studies her, contemplates every artery and capillary, every succulent drop of blood humming under the silky smooth finish of her neck column.

There's an impulse and she rides it, fights back the only way she knows how. The only way she has left.

So she leans forward and presses her lips against his own. Her stomach is leaden, and it's all she can do not to gag against his mouth. The cable around her wrist digs painfully into her wrist as she presses into him, but she whispers a loosening charm (_thank god she remembers, thank _god) against his tongue and starts sliding her hands back and forth, up and down, working and wiggling their way to freedom.

The sensations—she wants none of it, those cold and hard-as-marble-carved lips pressing against hers. He's aggressive, plundering with force enough to bruise when he slants his mouth against hers. He seems to think it's a game, running his tongue along her teeth and gripping her neck painfully tight as his other hand drops to her breast, kneading painfully. She can feel his fangs dragging against her lower lip and her panic spikes, beating a heavy pulse into her throat that he _senses_. He makes a beeline for the exposed length of arteries and blood vessels in her neck and Bonnie is frenzied, ignoring the pain as the plastic ties slice into her wrist and blood starts dripping down to the floor. _Almost—_

And suddenly, her hand slips free. Bonnie's hand fumbles around for the bottle on the nightstand and her fingers blissfully encircle the neck. Gripping tightly, she smashes the bottle against the table and with a savage blow, stabs Ben in the back with the jagged shard in her hands. The sound sickens her and his blood is everywhere as he falls back into the nightstand with a very mortal-sounding groan. It's all over in a matter of seconds and she's hurtling towards the door, towards freedom—

She can't see.

That's the first thing she notices. Then the stinging in her eyes as something warm and thick drips into them.

She can't move. Not yet anyway. She feels like a rag doll and as she raises a shaky hand to rub her eyes her hands come away slick with blood. Her blood.

She lets out a broken sound and as if on cue he's there before her, towering over her, like something out of a nightmare. Only… she can't wake up. Not from this.

He crouches down, swipes a thumb across her forehead, still dripping blood into her eyes. Raises his finger to his lips, savors the smell before bringing it to his lips. A low rumble builds in his chest and he bears down on her and Bonnie squeezes her eyes shut.

_Wakeupwakeupwakeup…_

"Scream for me, Bonnie," he hisses into her ear, his words dotted by small pecks as he makes his way up her collarbone to the base of her throat.

A tear rolls down her cheek.

As he descends upon her neck, she throws her head back and screams soundlessly.


	4. Jeremy

**Disclaimer:** No tengo nada.

**Author's Note:** Slowly but surely making my way through this. It's not much, but since the chapter I had with Tyler seems a little weird since I prefer him with Caroline, I had to retcon some of my original ideas. I might post the Tyler chapter as a bonus at the end when I'm done with my other pairings.

Short, sweet, and to the point, I think. Much like this pairing.

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**Fractal**, or

**The Five People Bonnie Kisses and the One That Kisses Her**

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**004. JEREMY GILBERT**

With him, it's like rain.

He washes over her, cool and comforting, bringing goosebumps to her skin and tremors to her fingertips.

He scares her. This boy-man, this perfectly sweet, introverted kid brother who grew into someone she wants to hold, who she wants to hold her. Someone who fixes her with that _stare_, the infuriating one where his gaze slides over to hers under his bangs and he grins, making her flush and know _exactly_ what he's thinking.

With him, it's like wildfire.

Unpredictable. Reckless. Searing hot to the touch. And, being the pyromaniac she is, It, this Thing they have between the two of them, understandably turns her on. She wants more of those looks, more of those meaningful conversations where he says one thing but means something else entirely, where his touches linger longer than his gaze, dancing upon her skin like phantom flames.

She cries over his lifeless form, feels a part of her die, shrivel up and waft away like a shred of paper lost to fire. As his skin grows cool beneath her fingertips and her blood drips down, filling her mouth with copper and staining his cheek a vivid crimson, she weeps. Her power flexes inside of her, a pulsating heartbeat of tenuous infinity that she feels waning even as she struggles to sap more of it from her ancestors, her forebears, her kin. Their anger splinters deep into her skin and it's as if her blood is boiling, right down to the capillaries, and she begs.

Please, she pleads.

Please, help me.

I love him.

Like a cosmic exhalation, something leaves her and goes into him. She gasps, spent, broken and rent asunder before his cheeks flush and his lungs inhale deeply. She feels his heart resume beneath her fingers and suddenly she's laughing and crying both, tears streaming down her cheeks, kissing his cheeks, his eyelids, his brow, every inch of him that's hers once more. There's blood everywhere, coating her tongue and lips but he doesn't care, he tangles his fingers through her hair and pulls her down to him, mouth roving greedily, desperately. He doesn't know yet what she's sacrificed, what this will do to him, but he kisses her anyway, kisses her because he knows what he could have lost.

She'll always love him. It only took his death for her to realize just how much.

In the future, their hearts lie elsewhere. With each touch, each kiss, each exchange between them she can see their entire lives unfold, backwards and forwards, sideways and infinitely, pressing up on all sides and filling her whole yet strangely incomplete. All paths lead nowhere, and everywhere… anywhere, it seems, but true happiness. It's a burden that weighs heavy on her chest like some pewter medallion, dense and unwelcome and overwhelmingly sure. So tangible she tastes metal on her tongue, the frustration that comes with knowing something for certain yet knowing nothing else at all.

But, strangely, this knowledge doesn't make her feel _sad, _not truly. As she presses her head to his chest and listens to his heart beat strong and steady, as she feels him lean into her and rest his cheek in her hair, she knows. This is a good time. She savors every second of it, because it will be some time before her destiny leads her to true happiness once more.

The path remains.

And for now, she is content.


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